The Silent Voyeur Who Stayed in the Dunes

That morning the sky had that indecisive gray color that could turn into sun or clouds just as easily. Andrés and I had gone weeks without going out together, without a moment for just the two of us, and when he suggested we go to the nudist beach we loved so much, I didn’t hesitate for a second. It wasn’t the ideal day, with that cold breeze kicking up sand, but it was our day.

The beach in question is a little corner that very few people know well. It has high dunes that close in toward the sea, with clumps of reeds between the mounds that create small private chambers of sand. We discovered it three years ago and since then it’s been our favorite getaway when we need to be truly alone.

We arrived and it was completely deserted. I knew it the moment we turned off the dirt track that came down from the parking lot: no umbrellas, no traces of towels, no voices. Just sand, wind, and that briny smell that has calmed me since I was little. I took my clothes off without thinking. Andrés did the same. We spread our towels out on a flat stretch, near a dune that sheltered us from the north wind.

For a while it was just that: weak sunlight, warm sand under the towels, and the rhythmic sound of the sea. Andrés was lying on his back with his eyes closed and I propped myself up on one side, looking at him. He has that stillness that throws me off balance, that way of existing in silence without needing anything else. I started tracing his chest with one finger. He smiled without opening his eyes.

—I thought you came to sunbathe —he said.

—I am sunbathing.

—What you’re doing isn’t sunbathing.

I ran my open palm over his stomach and kept going down slowly. No hurry. Enjoying the path. When I reached his cock, it was already responding, thickening against my hand, throbbing beneath my fingers. I wrapped my fist all the way around it and squeezed gently, feeling it harden centimeter by centimeter. I dragged my thumb over the tip, spreading the drop that was already shining there, and he let out a sharp breath.

—All right —he admitted—. This isn’t exactly sunbathing either.

I laughed. I knelt beside him and kept going with my hand, calmly, unhurried. I pumped his dick with long strokes, from the base to the tip, squeezing the head and easing off on the way down. The wind carried fine sand that stuck to our arms, and Andrés watched it all as if nothing in the world mattered except what I was doing. I lowered my head and licked the tip, tasting the salty pre-cum, and then I took him all the way into my mouth. I felt him hit the back of my throat and stayed there for a few seconds, breathing through my nose, noticing how he throbbed against my tongue.

We’d been at it for a few minutes like that — me sucking him calmly, going up and down, my hand working the base in sync with my mouth — when I saw him.

He was walking along the waterline, naked as he should be, at an easy pace. He must have been in his fifties, medium build, gray streaks in his hair. He wasn’t looking at the sea. He was looking at us.

I didn’t speed up or stop. I kept doing exactly what I was doing, with Andrés’s cock in my mouth, my ass lifted toward the dune. Andrés still had his eyes closed.

The man passed about ten meters away, turned his head slightly as he went by, and kept walking without stopping. Discreet. One of those who respect the unwritten rules of places like this: looking is fine, stopping to stare without permission is not.

Andrés opened one eye.

—Did someone pass by?

—A man. He’s gone now.

—And you kept going?

—Of course I kept going.

That woke him up completely. He looked at me with that expression I know well and held out his hand. I lay down beside him and let him kiss my neck, my shoulder, my collarbone, down over my chest and nip at my nipples until he had them hard. His hand spread my thighs and found my cunt already soaked through. He slipped two fingers inside and curled them against my inner wall while he sucked one breast, and I lifted my hips against his palm. His hands knew exactly where to go and how to get there.

***

The man passed by again. This time about six meters away. He didn’t glance sideways: he looked directly, for a couple of seconds, and kept going. My legs were open, Andrés’s fingers inside me to the knuckles, and I didn’t close anything up.

—We have admirers —I told Andrés against his neck.

—Does it bother you?

I thought about it for a moment. The honest answer was no. The more honest answer was that my cunt had gotten a whole lot wetter all at once.

—Not at all —I said—. But keep going.

Andrés kept going. He moved down over my belly and opened me with his tongue, sucking my clit with a slow suction that made me clench my fingers in his hair. He licked me from top to bottom, going in with his tongue, pulling out to lick my clit, without any hurry. I stopped worrying about anything that wasn’t what I was feeling in that moment: his mouth on my cunt, his open hand on my hip, the warm sand on my back. I lay completely on my back and looked up at the gray sky with Andrés’s tongue licking me. The wind had died down a little.

The man passed a third time. He stopped. Not ten meters away, not six: three. He sat down in the sand with his knees bent and watched us without hiding it, without moving, his hands resting still on his legs. Proper to that point. Though I could clearly see how his dick had risen against his stomach.

Andrés lifted his face from between my thighs and assessed him for a second, his mouth still shiny.

—Hey —I said to the man—, if you want to watch you can stay, but if anyone comes you warn us.

The man nodded.

—No problem. Carry on.

His voice was calm. Polite, even. He didn’t seem like the kind of person who’d do anything he wasn’t asked to do.

***

What happened next was strange and exciting at the same time. Knowing someone is watching you with that still, respectful attention changes things. It changes the way you move. It changes how much attention you pay to every detail. Andrés understood it without me having to say anything because he knows me well: he noticed how I got, and he got there too, his cock pointing at the sky, harder than I’d felt it in a long time.

We kept at it for a long while, with the man sitting in silence a few meters away. I had my head in Andrés’s lap, his cock brushing my cheek while he stroked my hair, and every so often I opened my mouth and gave him a long lick from his balls to the tip, never taking my eyes off the man. Apparently calm. In reality, right on the edge.

It was the sound that cut through everything.

A motorbike, still far off, but unmistakable. The engine’s noise bouncing between the dunes. The three of us tensed at the same time.

The man stood up, his cock still stiff and without trying to cover himself.

—Listen —he said—, about thirty meters north there’s a hollow between the reeds. Deep, enclosed on three sides. You’ll be much more comfortable there.

I looked at him for a moment. Andrés looked at me.

We gathered up the towels.

***

The hollow was exactly as he’d described it: an elongated dip in the sand, bordered by reeds on three sides, with a narrow opening facing south. The ground was fine, clean sand. We threw the towels inside, Andrés lay down, and I knelt beside him, Andrés’s cock pointed straight at my face.

The man arrived a moment later and settled at the entrance, facing outward, looking away from us. Guardian and spectator at the same time. He didn’t come in. He didn’t ask anything. He occupied the only place that made sense to occupy.

I started slowly. I took his cock in my hand, squeezed it at the base, and took it all the way into my mouth in one gulp, until I choked a little. Andrés had his hand in my hair but didn’t guide me: he let me go at whatever pace I wanted. I went up and down, salivating it well, letting a thread of spit run down my chin, and then I pulled it out abruptly to suck his balls one by one while I pumped his wet cock with my hand. The man, from the entrance, turned his head just enough to see us in profile, and this time he didn’t pretend: he grabbed his cock and started stroking himself slowly.

When Andrés pulled me up toward him and I got on top, the man shifted slightly to face us. Not close, not intruding: just the right distance to see clearly how Andrés’s cock was going into my cunt. I saw him out of the corner of my eye when I settled myself: his hand was on his own body, moving slowly, without making a show of it.

I rode Andrés facing the man. I guided his cock with my hand, ran it a couple of times over my cunt lips to get it nice and wet, and sat down on him all at once. I felt him open me from the inside, felt him reach all the way to the bottom, and I let out a moan I didn’t bother to hold back.

I didn’t do it thinking of him, exactly. I did it because it was what my body was asking for at that moment, and that moment included his gaze. The two things coexisted without getting in each other’s way.

Andrés had his hands on my hips. I had my hands on his chest. I moved slowly at first, feeling every inch go in and out, watching my cunt open around his cock each time I lifted myself up. Then faster when my body asked for it, riding him all the way, my tits bouncing, my ass slapping his thighs with a wet slapping sound that echoed between the reeds. The man watched without moving, with that sustained attention that feels different from the eye-fucking you sometimes see in certain places, even though his hand on his cock was moving faster and faster.

I turned around. I put my hands in the sand and leaned forward so Andrés could move from below, fucking me from underneath with short, deep thrusts that made me growl. From that position the man was right in front of me, and every time I lowered my head between my arms and lifted it, I saw him there, still, focused, with his stiff cock in his fist.

—Do you like what you see? —I asked him, my voice broken by a thrust. I don’t know why I asked. It just came out.

—A lot —he answered. One word, without exaggeration.

That was enough for me.

***

Andrés turned me over again. I lay on my back on the towel, spread my legs all the way open and let him on top. He thrust into me again in one go and started fucking me with a steady, deep rhythm, bracing himself on his arms so he could see my face. I was looking at him, but I was aware of the man at the entrance, aware that he was watching both of us from that angle, legs spread, seeing my cunt swallow my boyfriend’s cock over and over. Andrés moved with intent, calmly, with that concentration he has when he’s completely inside the moment. I was completely inside the moment too.

I felt the cold sand under my heels, the weight of Andrés on top of me, the rhythm we’d found. I brought one hand to my clit and started rubbing myself while he drove his cock into me to the hilt, and I felt the first wave hit me all at once. I came, clenching his back with my other hand, arching up, my cunt biting down on his cock in spasms that Andrés felt and rode out, gritting his teeth.

The man at the entrance made no noise, but he wasn’t pretending not to be there either. That honesty made him more exciting than anything else.

When I felt Andrés getting close, I whispered in his ear:

—I want you to come in my mouth. I want him to see it.

Andrés pulled out without saying anything, his wet cock slipping out of my cunt with a wet sound. I knelt in front of him. I took him with my hand and mouth in turns, unhurried, taking him exactly where I wanted to take him. I sucked the head, pulling it out completely with a pop, licked the frenulum with the tip of my tongue, swallowed him back to the base again, and worked his balls with my other hand. The man, from the entrance, now had his hand moving more visibly, his cock congested, his balls drawn up tight. He still made no noise, still didn’t move from his spot.

When Andrés came, it was abundant and it was in my mouth, just as I wanted. He filled my tongue with the first hot spurt, then another, then another, until I overflowed. I stayed for a moment without swallowing, feeling the weight of it, opening my mouth toward the man so he could see it clearly, with the cum gathered on my tongue and dripping a little from the corner of my mouth. Then I swallowed it slowly while looking Andrés in the eyes. After that I wiped the corner of my mouth with my finger and sucked the finger too.

The man’s neck was red and his hand had stopped, as if he were on the verge of coming just from watching.

I turned toward him.

—Looks like you got left hanging —I told him.

He smiled, slightly embarrassed for the first time all afternoon.

—Don’t worry about it. It was a pleasure anyway.

—That’s not what I mean.

I stood up and went over. I knelt in front of him in the sand. Andrés was behind me, watching in silence, his cock still dripping.

I took the man in my hand and started stroking him. He was hard as a rock, thick, the tip already soaked with his own pre-cum. I ran my thumb over the head, spreading it around, then closed my fist and began pumping him firmly, twisting at the tip, tugging to the base. He tensed for a second, as if he hadn’t quite expected it despite what we’d been doing for the last hour, and then he exhaled slowly and relaxed. I lowered my head and ran my tongue over the head, one long lick, and that was enough. He didn’t take long. He literally didn’t take long at all: fifteen seconds, maybe twenty, a barely perceptible sucking sound, and he came in thick spurts into the sand between his feet while I kept moving my hand through the last contractions.

He leaned back, propped on his elbows, eyes closed and his cock still throbbing in my fist.

—God —he said softly.

***

We cleaned ourselves off with the spare towel we always bring. We gathered the rest in silence, with that calm that settles in when everything has gone exactly right. The man was still seated there, recovering.

When we stood up to leave, Andrés held out his hand. The man shook it, a little surprised by the gesture.

—Thanks for keeping watch —Andrés said.

—Thank you —the man replied—. In all the years I’ve been coming to this beach, nothing like this has ever happened to me.

I smiled and slung my bag over my shoulder.

—Come earlier next time —I told him.

And we left by the same sandy path, with the sun finally breaking through the clouds, warming our backs.